


Electricity

by InkyBlot



Category: Rocketman (2019)
Genre: First Time, M/M, PWP, Smut, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 01:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22227679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkyBlot/pseuds/InkyBlot
Summary: John can sense his control faltering.John Reid's POV of his first meeting with Elton John.
Relationships: Elton John/John Reid
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	Electricity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theoldgods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoldgods/gifts), [novelized](https://archiveofourown.org/users/novelized/gifts).



* * *

John Reid sighs and glances at his watch as he leans against the sticky wood of the Troubadour’s bar. Scanning the club, he takes another sip of the fine malt whiskey he’s holding and wonders when the English band that Doug’s told him about will make an appearance.

It’s getting late, after all, and he’s got things to do.

The Troubadour is a familiar haunt for John. He’s here often, nursing a scotch and scanning the crowds of familiar and not-so-familiar talents. A tiny flame of compatriotism had compelled him to come back to the pulsing lights of the Troubadour tonight, a small ache for the simplicity of home amongst the enchanted pretence of Los Angeles. As well as professional curiosity of course. He’s in the business after all.

“Ladies and gentlemen, all the way from England… Elton John!”

A compact figure ascends stage and sits down at the piano, glancing at the backing band before leaning in to the microphone.

John finds himself unable to look away as the first notes of the song ring out. The singer’s profile is sharp behind huge absurd glasses, and his thighs are deliciously thick and muscled in tight white dungarees, a soft bulge where John shouldn’t be looking. He takes a sip of the amber liquid in his glass and feels the welcome heat in his throat. Why can’t he take his eyes off this kid? He’s absolutely not John’s type, fantastical and daring, sparkling and absurd, and yet. _And yet._

The music is good. Fucking good. The melodies effortlessly gliding up and down with an impressive vocal range, and the beats thrumming through John’s veins like a heartbeat. John feels the corners of his mouth quirk up in a sardonic smile as the crowd, screaming and jumping, joins in with the chorus. All eyes in the Troubadour are turned towards the electric figure on stage. _Moths drawn to a flame_.

There is something joyous and shimmering about Elton as he plunges into song after song, rockstar voice both rough and soft in equal measure, arms flashing in that absurd star-spangled top as they move with lightening speed across the keys. The stage seems somehow too small for him. John can’t see much detail from where he’s standing, but he can see that Elton’s sweaty hair is tousled and his grin behind those ridiculous glasses is utterly blinding. _Fuck._

The set rolls on with crashing certainty, with the deafening cheers only seeming to grow and swell as hearts are filled with the music and bodies loose with booze sway and shimmer. John’s instincts tell him that something monumental is happening in this crammed bar tonight. He holds himself tall in his business suit and appraises the enchanted crowd as they clap and dance and yell.

But then he sees Elton’s jaw glisten with sweat as he stands to kick the piano stool away from under him, and the mob goes wild.

John’s mouth goes dry.

* * *

By the time he arrives at Mama Cass’s party, John’s only slightly buzzed with alcohol. He feels a pleasant arousal humming inside him as disjointed thoughts flit through his head like slides on a projector.

Why the fuck can’t he stop thinking about the vein popping on Elton John’s neck as that golden voice cut through the cigarette smoke of the Troubadour, his neat little waist in those god-awful dungarees, the way the material strained against his arse as he had slammed his ridiculous heeled boot up on the piano keys…

John purses his lips. Impatient with himself. _You don’t even know if he’s…_

Wandering absently through small gatherings inside the house, he curtly exchanges the necessary pleasantries and shakes hands. The stereo music sounds tinny and thin in comparison to the thunderous magic that consumed the Troubadour earlier.

And then he sees him.

In the cool dark relief of the night air outside the house, a familiar mop of messy hair and the neat slope of those shoulders under a bright denim coat. Elton has his back to John; he’s sitting neatly on one of the logs bordering the bonfire. He has cleaned up from earlier, skin no longer sweaty and clothes now more casual – just jeans and a T-shirt under that jacket. He looks like a fairly ordinary young man, sitting alone at a party.

John tries not to look at how snugly Elton’s jeans fit around his thighs.

As he approaches, John can see that that sharp jaw is turned quietly towards the flames, pale skin glowing golden in the flickering light as the young man stares at the fire. There’s a stillness to him that disconcerts John slightly as he approaches - it’s in such stark contrast to the fizzing energy of the performance tonight. He almost looks melancholy.

With a feeling of cautious inevitability, John grabs a bottle of Don Perignon from a table as he passes. He finds an empty cup and a glass full of some unknown liquid which he tosses out as he comes to sit beside the quiet figure by the fire. Pushing down the arousal simmering in his stomach, he starts to speak, something about vintage. Elton turns his head to look at him with a slightly curious smile; he’s wearing more ordinary glasses now, clear-rimmed ones which don’t swallow up half his fucking face, and John realises with a jolt that Elton’s eyes are blue. He fights the urge to reach out and take the glasses off.

Elton bashfully tries to turn down a drink, and John is amusingly surprised by the guileless charm of this strange man. Earlier in the evening he was blitzing across the stage like a shooting star, trailing light and colour and magic into the night sky, and yet here at a party he’s somehow naive and awkward.

 _He’s fucking shy_ John realises, and the revelation does something to his cock.

“It’s always important to rely on the kindness of strangers” he says.

At that, Elton eventually looks up to meet his gaze, a small smile quirking his mouth and a spark of a challenge lighting his expression, and any doubt John might have had disappears.

Ah yes. This man is queer.

The surge of bitter triumph John feels at this quickly gives way to the crackling electricity of possibility as they sit, John talking slowly with practiced ease about opportunity and possibility. This is what he’s fucking good at, and he feels confident warmth start to spread as Elton listens in increasingly enraptured silence. That face, once so indistinct on the stage, is now so near to him and John lowers his tone until it drips with seductive potency and feels a stab of accomplishment when it seems that Elton is no longer able to look away from him either.

“You lit the blue touch paper tonight” he says, and he sees Elton’s gaze flick down to his mouth, eyes huge and shining in the firelight

The electricity hums between them.

* * *

They arrive at John’s hotel room just as dawn starts to spread its incandescent wings across the glowing sky. Elton hesitates by the door; looking around awkwardly at the smart furnishings in poorly disguised wonder that John finds fucking endearing.

He slides his suit jacket off and folds it on a chair. “Would you like a drink?”

Elton swallows and nods, raising his chin.

“Yeah…thanks.”

There’s no doubt in John’s mind that Elton hasn’t done this before, and the thought swells his chest and sends blood shooting to his already hard cock, trapped painfully in his slacks.

He pours two whiskeys, and watches as Elton tips his glass back, throat working as he downs it. _That throat_ … that throat which became such an instrument at the Troubadour tonight, weaving magic with gymnastic melody and sweeping the room along in enchantment. John’s fingers twitch as he stifles the urge to reach out and touch the soft skin and muscle as Elton shakily places his glass on the sideboard and turns to face him.

With a strangely tender warmth growing in his chest and pooling in his groin, John lets his gaze pass over the straight nose, the honest mouth, the kind eyes, the clear forehead with its hint of smile lines.

A charged silence descends on the room, but it isn’t unpleasant. Shimmers of dust illuminated by the early morning light float in calm diagonal glints by the window. The shadows feel wicked and welcoming. John can’t help a small smile from creeping to the corners of his mouth as he takes a step closer to Elton, whose hands, earlier so confident on the keyboard, now rest quietly as his sides.

John really fucking badly wants to kiss him.

There’s a feeling of a delicious tension between them now, like a golden gossamer thread ready to snap and give way to a tidal wave of passion. It hums and crackles in the air. John can see Elton feels it too; his pupils are blown wide and his lips are slightly parted as he stares at John, and John can see that he’s impossibly aroused as well, those jeans tight and straining as Elton’s eyes dart over him in desperate uncertainty.

 _God, he’s beautiful like this_ , thinks John.

Slowly, he closes the distance between them. They’re actually pretty well matched for height, and John can sense his control faltering as he places his hands on Elton’s arms, feeling the warmth from Elton’s body and smelling his faint musk of maleness and sweat. The lust seems to be pulsing through him, throbbing between his legs and making his mouth dry. _What is it about this man_?

Before he can gather his thoughts, he’s gently leaning in to capture Elton’s lips, and the sound Elton makes is so hot it makes his heart stutter, but John closes his eyes and forces himself to go slow, enjoying the soft taste of Elton’s mouth, still slightly spicy from the whiskey.

Eyes closed, John reaches up to carefully slide the denim jacket from Elton’s shoulders. He can hear it fall behind them with a soft thud and then he’s moving his hands to Elton’s back to pull him closer as their kiss deepens, tongues exploring tenderly and hot breath mingling. With a shock he realises he can feel Elton’s frantic heartbeat pounding through his shirt, and that somehow makes him pull away and look at the panting flushed young man in front of him.

“Jesus, Elton, you’re fucking sexy.” He doesn’t know what makes him say it.

Elton responds by taking a step closer and boldly fumbling with the buttons on John’s shirt, hands desperate and urgent.

“Please… John… off…”

John shrugs out of his shirt, and tries to smirk at Elton’s hungry gaze raking down his chest. Even in his uncertainty, he seems a blinding light to John, a blaze of uncommon joy, a force of nature, a rare creature bursting with magic. John can’t even put a number to the amount of guys he’s fucked in this enchanted fucking city, but he can’t remember the last time he’s been this turned on. _I still can’t look away from him,_ he thinks _._ _I’m still fucking drawn to him_.

They end up in the bedroom, where Elton stands uncertainly by the bed until John pulls him in again, fists gripping the bright fabric of Elton’s T-shirt as John finally lets himself give in to the overwhelming current which seems to be thrumming to the tips of his fingers. This time the kiss is deeper and John can feel Elton’s hands come up to cup his head, and the sensation of those strong fingers in his hair make lightening shoot straight to John’s cock. Taking a breath and feeling like he’s about to burst as his hands grip the soft muscles of that arse, he manoeuvres Elton around toward the bed until Elton can sit down on the mattress behind him.

Rising up, one knee on the soft linen of his bed sheets, John feels a inexplicable sense of wonder blossoming in his chest as he leans down and kisses Elton again more slowly, tenderly. Then Elton’s breath huffs on the hairs of his chest as John towers above him, and John can feel the wetness from his own cock seeping through his trousers. Suddenly he wants Elton in him. Very badly.

He sits down on the bed so they are eye to eye. Equals. Breathless and staring, small smiles playing on their lips. He reaches out and finally, _finally_ , gets to take those glasses off Elton’s face. He places them gently on the nightstand and turns back to face the figure now beside him.

John feels his breath catch in his throat. Without the glasses, he can see the full handsome symmetry of Elton’s upturned face, the fine hairs of his eyebrows dark smudges against his skin, his flushed cheeks, his lips parted and swollen from kisses, eyes wide in trusting expectation. Elton looks older, somehow, then his 23 years. Or perhaps it is the slight sadness in those eyes, which now blaze with desire as he gazes at John, a wicked smile playing on his lips as Elton places both hands on John's chest and pushes him back against the pillows with surprising strength.

They find their way onto their backs side by side, clumsy and desperate, and Elton has somehow divested himself of his T-shirt. John manages to focus on soft pectoral muscles and a toned stomach before they are fumbling with their belts and trousers. John feels like a giddy teenager as he shoots another glance at Elton's face. He feels somehow intoxicated by the light in this man. Suddenly absolutely cannot stand the layers of clothing between them anymore. He decides to stop questioning the strength of his reactions and just go with it. _Fuck slow_. He wants to touch Elton, feel that magic throat beneath his hand, feel those strong thighs between his, feel the hot hardness of his cock.

John manages to get his trousers off first and turns to help Elton, who is still fumbling with buttons. Sharing a breathless laugh, they slide the denim down Elton’s legs together, and John can see that Elton wants him too, just as badly.

Keeping his eyes focused on the smooth planes of Elton’s face, he places his hand over the wet spot on Elton’s underwear, palming the hardness there, and Elton let’s out a breathless shout that goes straight to John’s groin. Elton’s not small, John thinks gleefully, as he continues to stroke the length through the fabric, watching as Elton’s head tips back, exposing the beautiful column of his neck to the soft sunlight. He kisses his way up Eton’s warm chest, until he can lick and suck at Elton’s throat, worshipping as he feels Elton’s ribcage swell with gasped breaths. 

John can feel Elton’s hands on his back, strong fingers and thumbs calloused from the piano, and the memory sends a small electric thrill through him.

He continues for a while, lazily palming Elton’s cock through his underwear as he rains kisses down on Elton’s lips, his neck, his chest. His other hand seems to be acting of it’s own accord, exploring the body now exposed to it, stroking the thick muscles of Elton’s hairy thighs, smoothing over the soft taughtness of his stomach, reaching into the silky length of Elton’s hair. _I should remember to go slow more often_ , John thinks, as he drinks in the sight of Elton writhing between him, barely able to get out a coherent word. It’s so fucking sexy.

“John… please..”

John smiles and kisses the side of Elton’s mouth. His hand continues to work gently on Elton’s length between them.

“What do you want darling?”

Elton gasps and arches as John’s hand finds the tip of him and squeezes through the wet fabric.

“Please….I…”

John can feel the blood pulsing in his untouched cock, he doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard. He swallows, willing himself to last, and smiles down at the man beside him.

“Tell me what you want, Elton.”

“I…aah God!!...I...I want you”

Elton’s eyes are squeezed shut, his brow furrowed, his mouth parted revealing the endearing gap between his front teeth. John is still not sure he can take his eyes off him, but something controlling and proud in him wants this to be good for Elton so without hesitation he reaches inside Elton’s underwear and gently takes out his cock.

He isn’t prepared for Elton’s frame to arch nearly completely off the bed as a hoarse shout escapes. _Holy hell_. Elton is shaking with passion, John realises with a jolt which reaches down to his stomach, and he very nearly looses it. The cock in his hand is dusky red and beautifully straight, surely as hard as he is he thinks, as he watches a bead of clear precum gather in the secret slit. Waiting for the trembling body beneath him to relax, John keeps his hand still around Elton’s length as he slips his own underwear off with his other hand. Looking down at the man beside him, John suddenly feels like he's somehow flying too close to the sun, with the inevitable danger of burning up. 

Then he slowly begins to move his hand on Elton, revelling in the sighs and gasps he is managing to elicit. To think that this voice, moaning above him, is the same voice that held hundreds of people in enchantment tonight, that soared out raw and confident and bewitching _. And now I’m the one making him sing._

He moves up to fit his mouth over Elton’s once more, swallowing Elton’s groan as John’s fist still works slowly over the rigid heat of Elton’s length, and he brings his other hand down to cup a soft ball, which is already tight and drawn up for release. This breaks something in John, he can feel his own impending orgasm simmering between them, sending crackling energy to every extension of his being. He can hardly think any more. His mind is being whited out by the blissful electricity of sensation. Suddenly he needs Elton on top of him.

No longer capable of sentences himself, John brushes his thumb across the head of Elton’s member which he still cradles in his hand. Elton’s hips thrust up automatically as he gasps and their mouths come together again hungrily. Almost as if he could read John’s mind, Elton suddenly surges up, almost taking John by surprise with the force of his urgency, and flips them. He’s clearly being led by instincts now, and John feels his heart stutter in his chest as he feels Elton’s weight come to rest between his thighs.

John closes his eyes. They’re lost to electricity now, grasping hands and warm tongues as their hips move together in a perfect dance. Their bodies know what to do. John can feel the girth of Elton’s cock between them, sliding against his belly and smearing their wetness together across his scorching skin.

“Oh God, oh Elton… oh fuck fuck fuck”

His knees are up now, his body deliciously crushed as Elton leans forward to kiss him, hands tenderly on either side of John’s head. John feels like he is pure sensation, his every limb charged with some inexplicable voltage. The world spins out and narrows down to the feel of Elton’s hips bucking gently against his, the incredible sensation of their cocks trapped between them, and the thrilling click of Elton’s teeth as he fits their mouths together and they lose themselves to instinct.

John knows that neither of them is going to last long. He forces himself to open his eyes and look up at the face above him. Elton’s flushed brow is beaded with sweat, his hair is falling onto his forehead, and his eyes are wide and pure as they lock with John’s in wonder. John doesn’t think this man’s ever looked more gorgeous. The moment breaks and he watches as Elton bites his lip and ducks his head. John sees a droplet slide down Elton’s check, and maybe it’s because John’s had too much whiskey already tonight, impulse takes him and he leans up to lick it off.

Elton lets out a breathless sob, and then he’s coming between them. John feels the pulsing against him and then suddenly Elton bites down hard on John’s neck in his passion and that's what tips John over the edge. He’s not normally one to go in for biting, _it must be that he’s been wound so tight this evening, ever since the fucking Troubadour_ , he thinks. Or maybe it’s just something about this man wrapped in his arms, panting and ejaculating against his stomach. But whatever it is, John feels the floodgates break and bliss wash over him as his release begins. He’s no longer able to keep his eyes open as he feels his cock, still trapped against Elton’s soft abs, twitch and throb as he comes without ever having to touch himself once. _Jesus_.

They hold each other tight for long moments afterwards, until pounding hearts and ragged breaths calm and sweat begins to cool on their skin. John can feel Elton’s lips form a small smile against his neck as he lies collapsed between his thighs and a flicker of affection sparks deep in his chest. He doesn’t know why, but he brings his hand up and gently, tenderly caresses Elton’s hair where it curls at the back of his neck.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

>  _This is a work of fiction based purely on the characters in the film "Rocketman" and is not meant to represent any real persons._
> 
> * * *
> 
> I'm fascinated by the mind of John Reid, the complexities of his motives and especially how he sees Elton in those early days before the shit hit the fan. So... I've written this from John's POV to explore Elton and John's first meeting and the smut that ensues. Enjoy! 
> 
> This story is a gift for **theoldgods** and **novelized** because their agonisingly beautiful _Rocketman_ stories have kept me up for the past few nights in a fever of eager inspiration. The way you guys write character is just...wow. I can only hope to be as incredible as you someday. Thank you so much for your stories.
> 
> Sorry in advance for any typos, I've been writing for 6 hours solid :P


End file.
